USS Galileo: In the Engine room

Posted on 29 Mar 2015 @ 11:10am by Petty Officer 3rd Class Vermeer Talbot & Chief Warrant Officer 2 Vasily Sokolov Ph.D.

1,537 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Episode 08 - NIMBUS
Location: USS Galileo, Deck 7, Engineering
Timeline: MD -03, 1700 hrs

ON:

"Hey! Mister Sokolov!" Vermeer Talbot smiled as he spotted the other engineer, hurrying to him. With the way the crew was split up between ships, Ver had taken the chance to just spend his time exploring engineering. He usually kept to his little bits and pieces. And now that he was getting some sleep as well, he felt refreshed. Good, in fact. He felt a lot less achy and tired.

So that was why the stubble on his face was more styled, why his hair was a bit spiked with gel and he didn't constantly yawn or rub his eyes. He felt better than he had since he had been Borg-ified.

"Mr Sokolov!" he caught up with him, grinning. "Sorry...I was wondering if you're heading to the bar later with this shift lot? We want to raise a glass of luck for the ship for the wargames...and have enough time to recover from a hangover before it all kicks off again."

Vasily slowly turned to face him, frowning as always. "Oh, Talbot. It is you. Did you not notice I was walking faster to get away? Nevermind." The salty old Russian held up his hand. "Everyone on crew is suddenly so chummy. So chummy, in fact, they forget to call you Doctor Sokolov, as if you are friendly local yokel next door neighbor on porch and not superior officer with degree in advanced theoretical physics. But, do not worry..." Vasily gave a patronizing smile. "I think they put things in environmental systems to cause this, hm? So, I forgive you."

Vermeer watched him before grinning, shaking his head. "You know why I am chummy? I was a Borg, man. Puts things in perspective, my Russian Doctor Co-worker. Anyway, offer stands. I promise it will be vodka as well, not anything else." He met his eyes and there wasn't any sign he was backing down. Because Vermeer rarely did.

"You are irrepressible, Talbot," Vasily muttered, though it sounded something like an insult. "What kind of vodka? I drink top-shelf booze, not this shit produced by computer. Computer has no respect for art of making alcohol when it rearranges molecules and spits out this rubbish."

"Hey, the new bar people have proper bottles of the stuff," Vermeer said, smiling as he knew he had tempted him. "Even some Stoly-something that looks very, very Russian. And isn't vodka like mother's milk to you lot, Doctor?"

"Stolichnaya," Vasily gruffly corrected, trying to act like he was still aloof and uninterested. "Okay, I will come. But only to make sure pre-war drinking is conducted properly."

Vermeer chuckled as he nodded, moving to walk. "We can do a toast too. For luck, you know? What do you Russians say when you make a toast? I never did learn that...I know a few for other languages, but not Russian."

"Other Russians say nostrovia but not Vasily. Toasts get in way of drinking and imply maybe you somehow like people you are drinking with which is sometimes but not always true, so it is best to just leave it out altogether, hm? Besides, there is not toast verbose enough for all luck this ship will need in wargame. All crew on Galileo are soft scientists, not hardened combat veteran. Klingons will wipe floor with you."

"Yes, I do not put that past Klingons. Not that they'd ever wipe a floor," Vermeer said easily and patted his arm, his eyes shining at the prospect of drinking with this hardcore man.

-----

An hour later, Vasily had enough to drink that he was actually laughing as he regaled Vermeer with a story of his time aboard the Vigilant during the Dominion War. "So, spoonheads have shot out primary ODN junction leading to forward phaser cannons with stupid disruptor that is inferior in all respects, of course, but also still somehow powerful. Chief Engineer has taken blow to head and is stumbling around engineering; damage control teams are fighting fire on Deck 4. Ship is, like, two hits from blowing up. So, Vasily goes into Jeffries tube by himself to address problem with ODN junction. No guns means no ship, yes?"

"No guns mean no ship indeedy," Vermeer echoed, nodding as he grinned, quite happily enjoying the buzz and the conversation. "So what did you do? I mean...it's a big job, even for a hard man."

Vasily grinned at that and poured another shot for both of them, downing his own immediately. "Maybe for lesser men, hm? Not world-class engineers like Sokolov and Talbot, yes? So. At junction in Jeffries tube, suddenly Cardassian appears! Shields go down and Cardassians think to beam aboard saboteur to overload and permanently disable primary systems at key ODN junctions to commandeer Defiant-class ship and get secrets. But they do not expect Dr. Vasily Mikhailovich Sokolov. So." He poured himself another shot, downed it, and then slammed the glass on the table. "I slit his throat with back of sonic impulse invertor."

"Creative," Vermeer nodded, watching him for a long moment. "Quick thinking too!" he knocked his drink back and grimaced. "Jesus wept, that's good..." he met his eyes, tapping the table with a finger. "Did any more try to follow?"

"No," Vasily said, shaking his head as if it was something unfortunate. "I repair systems, weapons come online, and tactical officer scores direct hit on Cardassian dorsal anti-matter flow regulator. Boom, no more Cardassian." He grinned and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his surprisingly flat stomach. "Ah, Talbot, there is nothing like good war, hm? And maybe no better enemy than Klingon. They don't have same ideas as Federation, so fighting is different. You'll see."

"I bet I will. I have read about their victories. Their...battle rage. It is like the Vikings of old," Talbot leant closer, clearly passionate and quite pissed. "The only good death is a death in battle, the rage and passion, the abandonment of the senses. Is it not glorious? They are glorious and beautiful in their ways. Like all species of the universe. Minus the Borg, not fond of the Borg."

"Fucking Borgs," Vasily spat, shoving the bottle and shot glass away in anger. "Why don't they wipe out Borgs when they have chance? Starfleet Admirals are stupid bunch of stupid bastards. 'Respect life.' Bullshit. Starfleet directives don't say surrender to warmongering assimilators, either. It is war. Constant, total war with Borgs. You cannot negotiate with hive mind machine. It is kill or be killed."

"Hey, preaching to the choir!" he said before pulling his shirt up, reaching for the Russian's hand. He put it on his own chest, about three inches below his right nipple. "Feel that? Borg implant. Can't get it out, it's gotten all fused..." he let go of his hand, shaking his head. "Now what was the point of that? Seriously? I mean, they could get some juicy strong people to Borgify. Like you. You'd be amazing. Me? Imagine being scared of a Borg my size? Hell no."

"Borg nanites would never assimilate Dr. Vasily Mikhailovich Sokolov. Too much liver damage, they just move on. They need small sneaky Borgs like you, so that people do not see you coming when it's time for assimilation," Vasily said, grinning. The grin faded as he stared at Vermeer's chest, wondering silently what it might be like to be assimilated. Suddenly, his brow drew together, and he turned serious. "What happened?"

"I got Borgified, that happened!" he lowered the shirt and shook his head, reaching for the drink. "Panic, fear, more panic...then it's like a fog. You're moving. You're doing stuff. You can't stop it. You're a tiny voice screaming in the corner of the brain...and that's it. I was lucky, I wasn't fully...they didn't...you know...get my arm. Just my eye," he said and gestured to the left side of his face. "And that was fixed. So I am lucky. I am really lucky." He knocked back the drink and closed his eyes. "I didn't hurt anyone else."

"Don't become Borg again, or I will put you down," Vasily said. It was a casual, almost flippant statement, but there was a certain edge to it that made one wonder about the seriousness of it. "You are lucky, then. The doctors unborged you? They always leave something behind..." He motioned to Vermeer's chest. "Like Borgs have planned for people to be unassimilated but they make it so not everything can be removed, so you don't forget."

"I won't," he said softly, nodding as he watched him for a long moment. "And hey, I know I can trust you to..." he pretended his hand was a gun and made a 'pow pow' sound. "Put me down like a dog..." he chuckled and reached for another drink, his vision swimming and he missed his glass. "Aw man. Another one, my Russian friend?"

Vasily nodded and grinned. "Okay, maybe one more. Or two..."

OFF:

CWO2 Vasily Sokolov, Ph.D.
Engineering Officer
USS Galileo
[ PNPC - Mott ]

&

Petty Officer 3rd Class Vermeer Talbot
Engineering Officer
USS Galileo
[ PNPC - Devin ]

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